Whispers of Shadows
by Shadowdragon1317
Summary: "There are two sides to magic, one where you control it or it controls you. A powerful sorcerer, like Morgana or Mordred, when put through much torment, they could lose themselves." "Even Emrys?" "Yes. Merlin is already starting to waver. If Arthur does not save him, then he will be nothing more than a torrent of chaos. If this happens, Merlin will die." (AxG and MxF only!)
1. Prologue: Burning

**This idea for a story would literally never leave me alone until I finally put it down on ! I hope its good enough to satisfy! :)**

**Please no flames! R&R PLEASE!**

There was blood staining his hands. It dripped from his fingertips, tracing intricate patterns across the young man's hands. The little traces of blood left on his hands looked very much like the tattoo of the Diamir. Only it was still running down his arm. The liquid had gathering up into a scarlet pool at his feet. His old leather boots that he had worn for the past several years were stained at the red liquid lapping at his heels like a dog. And he had loved it. A predator groveling in its victims' blood, a ferocious animal that seized being a slave long ago.

That's what he was, a danger to those he once held dear.

Gold eyes gleamed in the darkness surrounding his body. Their color no longer held the light and innocence of the young man. No, his orbs had a much more sinister feel in those amber eyes, the ones that seem to appear and disappear at will in the shady corners of the five kingdoms of Albion. The moment anyone looked was the moment they could no longer walk alone in the dark.

He was in a part of the Darkling Woods that not even a hunter dare venture in. No light could ever penetrate the leaf and branch layer from the top of the forest. The leaves were as hard as oak, and they never fell when winter came. No rain reached its barren surface, nor sunlight could reach the light deprived plants. Any who tried to grow and blossom in this foul place was swallowed by the shadows, never to be seen. Many a farmer had believed this place was cursed.

For awhile it seemed for once the peasants were correct. Any man foolish enough to venture in this forbidden sanctuary was found with his throat slashed the next morning. Once, even the King had sent men to investigate the mysterious demise of his people. He believed it was a common cutthroat waiting for innocents to wander into his grasps.

How His Majesty could be so wrong.

The soldiers were laid across tree trunks with branches piercing their corpses and their necks nearly covered in thorns. Blood soaked the thirsty ground and ever since the grass that had tried to spread there had been the color scarlet. The King then decided to make sure none dared enter these feared places again. He wrote it into law, and since that time of Uther's father, none were stupid enough to venture into the Cursed Oaks.

But only those who had magic could enter, as the place was an ancient home of the Druids. But it had been abandoned a long while ago. The peace-caring people could no longer stand life deprived of the light.

Soon enough, the man had ventured here. He grew to love the darkness, the silence and fear it brings. The ever midnight sky. All of the details that farmers and knights feared and cowered before never frightened him. The trees with their large limbs, especially the way how the cold wind brushed lightly against the wood's surface and made the branches clatter together like the shaking of bones.

The blackness keeping him hidden was crushing, not suffocating like he had expected. Yet, it was still enough to make him squirm uncomfortably. But that was why he loved the shadows. No one had ever seen him flinch, or even shed a look of terror. Not even for the high and mighty King Arthur of Camelot.

His sneer at the thought of the man he once held a friend was frightening. He could tear the king apart in the chaos he was destined to ensure. It just made it all the more laughable about how long the pathetic kingdom had survived so many magical attacks. All of the sorcerers plotting to kill Uther, then Arthur, and even the great Merlin himself, those plans had been his own, his own plans and ideas to topple the kingdom of Albion into his own hands.

The man's smile held even more fear than before. His canines looked sharp enough to rip through steel. The teen's teeth gleamed like the star of the North on a cold winter's night. But it was as if looking at a false hope straight in the face, a killer showing that he was sorry. All a facade to lure the innocents into blindly following him like a lamb to slaughter. All that in his grin.

_Because when a predator smiles_, the man snickered to himself, _the hunt has already been won._

Entertained by the thought, his fingers danced across the wall near him. The man tapped out a hymn he had known since he had been born, one that spoke of great kings and the wonders of magic. Uther had made it illegal ages ago to ever utter a word of those ancient songs. Even the knights wouldn't follow this command. Music had a way into the hearts of the masses. No matter the penalty those hymns evolved into works of elegance and grace, and with him they stayed.

Memories always made the man tense. Delving too deep within his host's mind could cause him another black out, and let the _Other_ regain control of himself. Temporarily of course. The _Other _was far too weak because of the grief he had of his friends, who he believed he had lost. And by the time the _Other_ had realized that he was no longer himself, he had taken over.

But it hadn't been easy. The host had been fighting against his control for a very long time. Each time the_ Other_ had grown stronger both in strength and endurance. Yet he had won.

For months now, he couldn't feel his host's presence nor feel the normally relentless magic berating his every step. It was the only factor that could send himself and his plans to the burning pyre. He shivered, both in horror and fright of the memory of flames.

The way their heated tongues licked every surface capable to burn. The snapping and flashing of its unholy light. And the burning. He _always_ feared the scent of charred flesh, the searing heat scorching into his skin, and the smoke snaking its way into his lungs. So many had been engulfed in that inhuman way to die. And as the onlookers watched, their utter amazement sickening to the stomach, he remembered the face of Uther Pendragon.

Proud, smug, and even laugh at the ending of another's life, literally burning until the wind put the flames out in pity. The pyre was the only thing that had ever haunted his steps, a phantom in the night hiding behind dark corners of a supposedly safe place. _He was the only thing that was supposed to cause fear, and here he was feeling the thing he created._

Snapping his jaws in hatred, he knew that soon enough, Camelot would soon feel the fire. _His_ flames that enveloped the city in burning tentacles. And he will laugh as they die, writhing in the flames of the very thing the kingdom sought to destroy. Sorcery.

Just then, the man hunched over in a deep, bellowing pain that radiated from his skull. He fell to the earth, flailing in agony as a mental sword drove its way through his head. He unintentionally screamed; a shrill and scratchy sound that sounded a mix between the roar of a dragon and the cry of a griffin. A powerful voice broke through his mental wall, yelling at him.

_You'll never get away with it!_

And yet, despite the ferocity of the anguish ringing through his veins with each pump of his heart, the man chuckled. But it also had him sharply intake a breath as he felt a twinge of internal pain in his chest.

The unoriginal use of the phrase had made him laugh. _That_ was the best that the _Other_ could think of? A phrase that men in his situation use to delay the inevitable? Cruelly, he pushed the surge of magic back down, which allowed the pain to whither and ebb away as well. But spots still teetered on the edge of his eyes, making the man feel unsteady on his feet. It was as if he were drunk.

_Oh my dear Other, _the man mocked as the life force of his host seemed to abate back to whatever place it had come from, _can you not see that Camelot is already doomed? For as your destiny is to rebuild Albion,_

The man smiled as he walked from the clearing, into the busy marketplace of the famous kingdom of Camelot. In front of him, was the castle.

_Mine is to watch it burn back to the ground._

**The title of the story was thanks to my brilliant friend, Adeliade! THANK YOU!**

**Please R&R before you leave!**

**Review Question: Who do you think is the Other?**

**Dragon Out!**


	2. Dragon Tears

**Hi, my brilliant amazing readers! THANK YOU FOR ALL OF THE OVERWHELMING SUPPORT OVER THE FIRST CHAPTER! :)**

**Especially to all you reviewers, or if you favorited or followed this story, you are amazing! Only, that was the prologue to this story...**

**The evil presence spoken of last chapter will be back, only later in the story. :) **

**Merlin is sadly not mine... Otherwise we'd still be seeing more episodes. **

**Now begins Whispers of Shadows!**

He wanted so desperately to scream, to swear and curse about how the events that had played themselves before his eyes had been completely unjust. He hated the feeling of uselessness. Watching his closest friend's body drift lazily out into the grips of the spirit world, made Merlin feel as if he had been cheated. Destiny had taken those close to him. now it had taken Arthur, who he was supposed to protect. Tears leaked out from closed lids, unwanted and not useful. They ran down his face like a river, and fell with a small plop down into Lake Avalon. So many had gone to rest here, so many sobs held within those waters.

Arthur had once told him that no man was worth his tears, or even worth the time to be sorrowful for their deaths. But was his father worth it? Was Freya, the only girl he had ever loved? Arthur Pendragon himself?

He didn't know nor did he care. He just wanted to lose himself in his grief.

Merlin dug his fingers into his palms, squeezing them into a fist. His nails dug into his palms, but he didn't even feel it. The young warlock didn't even know that he was clenching his hands so hard that it was beginning to draw blood.

The scarlet liquid welled up into his palms and oozed between his fingers. He felt the blood gathering in his palms, and finally released his grip on his hands. Tiny drops of scarlet plopped into that sacred water, contorting and changing the reflection of the world until it all turned into a hazy red. Anger bubbled into his heart. Merlin turned and slashed the water with his hands, taking his burning hatred out upon the Lake.

_How is it that my destiny turned to be for naught_? Merlin thought to himself. He always protected Arthur, no matter what the cost. Even his own secret had been a price to pay. Now the King is gone. His best friend, one of the few people to know his secret abilities.

And Merlin blamed everything on himself. He tried to thwart the attempts by fate to save the King's life, but he ended up setting them in motion. Of reviving Mordred and Morgana, of sparing their lives when he should've ended their them. All that surrounded the those two sorcerers was pain and misery and everlasting sorrow. But Emrys knew that part of them becoming the Once and Future King's downfall was his fault.

Merlin then cried out in a choking sob, sadness finally overtaking his mental wall. His labored breaths echoed his racing heat, and he fell to his knees in the soggy sand near Lake Avalon. He felt the weakness in his limbs and the growling of his stomach. But he suppressed the urge to leave and he just knelt by the Lake's side, unwilling to leave his best friend until Arthur's body was beyond his field of vision.

* * *

"O Drákos, tha prépei na me voi̱thí̱seis! Zi̱tó̱ ti̱ voí̱theiá sas O sofós!" Merlin yelled as he swiftly ran through trees. He ran as if Morgana was after him.

Soon enough, he found a clearing where the Great Dragon awaited him. The regular playful, yet stern look was gone. A look into the dragon's eyes told the young warlock that he too was mourning the loss of the Once and Future King. Then, Merlin hung his head low. Inwardly, a thought taunted Merlin with the idea that once again, Kilgarrah was only worried for his own needs.

_He only needs you to make magic legal, to save his hide from being hunted down by the men of Camelot. He's done it before, he'll do it again._

"...Young warlock," the Great Dragon's voice pulled Merlin out of his inner thoughts and back out into reality. Which he no longer wanted to resire. All Emrys wished to do was to be with his friends, his_ family._ Yet that circle of trusted and beloved people was slowly waning like the phases of the moon. And Merlin never before felt that stab of loneliness hurt so painfully.

Kilgarrrah never could tell what feelings a human would bottle up inside their hearts. He only figured it out when either the young warlock spoke, or when he allowed emotion upon his features. But the Great Dragon knew that the young sorcerer had learned to make his face a mask to hide his feelings. So the Dragon decided to ask his young Dragonlord what was troubling him. Though he didn't know how.

"Young Warlock?"

Merlin's head snapped up. In his eyes was one of bleak misery. His pupils were almost grey, cloudy and overcast with a mixture of emotions. To be frank, it increased Kilgarrah's worries tenfold. Merlin was never this unreachable, even when the Druid girl had lost her life.

"What do I do now?" Emrys whispered, and the dragon didn't know whether or not Merlin was talking to himself or Kilgarrah. Yet what the Great Dragon didn't understand was the feeling of complete hopelessness that he couldn't shake. He had failed his destiny, the only thing that made him special and kept him moving. What reason did he now have to move on? Arthur was dead, and any hope to reunite Albion was now dust in the wind.

"What reason is there for me to live now?" Merlin asked, more force stressed upon his words, ones so cold and unfeeling Kilgarrah had the mental image of icicles forming over them. He sounded so unlike himself, so different, even the Great Dragon noticed. But he chose to heed no mind to it. Merlin must go on, no matter how damaged he was.

"You must reunite Albion yourself." Kilgarrah spoke, feeling that Merlin just needed to put this matter aside. But the dragon was surprised when he saw the venom leaking into his eyes after the Great Dragon spoke. Even when Kilgarrah attacked Camelot and betrayed Merlin's trust, the young warlock forgave him and there was no argument over it. Now was different.

Merlin was feeling outraged. How _could _the Great Dragon toss aside Arthur's role so easily? As if all those years of protecting him mattered for not. Merlin bit back words of spite and anger, which worried him. His emotions were never this out of hand. Even when Freya had perished...

His heart stopped as he thought about the only girl he had ever loved. Merlin saw the scene of her dying in his arms over and over again in his mind, bleeding out of the wound Arthur gave her. But there was something that tried to call out to him, something for him to notice. A piece of the puzzle that doesn't fit.

_Wait a moment..._

"Kilgarrah, have I ever told you about how the Druid girl, Freya, had died?" Merlin pushed down his biting retorts and accusations. He wanted answers, of course. But he wanted to extract them carefully from the dragon. For even in the small chance that he was wrong, the Great Dragon would never trust him again.

After a slight pause, Kilgarrah bowed his head down low. The dragon knew that this girl was an important person in the young warlock's mind. But the dragon wanted to avoid any direct questions. So quietly, the Great Dragon mumbled that he had known how the Druid girl died.

"The wound she had, it shouldn't have been fatal."

A statement, not a question. The wound looked as if it had entered her heart, or that it severed an artery. But the one thing wrong in that scene playing over in his head was this. Freya's injury was to the shoulder, away from anything that would cause massive bleeding like she had. But yet, why did she die from it? It couldn't be from infection. You could never have a wound infected so quickly unless by magic. So why did she perish from it?

"Why did she die from it Kilgarrah?" Merlin asked, echoing his thoughts near exactly.

Nervously, Kilgarrah swallowed. This was what he was afraid Merlin would ask. He just looked away from the young warlock's accusing gaze, staring at the moon and stars above the both of them. But Emrys had had enough. His questions _will_ be answered, even if the Great Dragon does not willingly cooperate. Closing his eyes, Merlin dove deep into his soul to find the voice of the Dragon Lord. And after feeling his inner dragon take flight, he roared as he began to speak.

"Drákos! Tha apantí̱sei stis ero̱tí̱seis mou! O chrónos gia psémata kai exapáti̱si̱ eínai páno̱!" Emrys uttered, glaring daggers at the much larger dragon as his eyes glowed a brilliant gold.

"MERLIN!" Kilgarrah screeched as his wings furiously berated the ground, sending torrents of wind in the direction of the young warlock. How_ dare _he?! Mistreating his gifts as a Dragon Lord to only answer his questions, what was he thinking? But inwardly, the Great Dragon felt a prickle of fear pass though his decades old heart. If Merlin were to discover the truth...

But the sound of wind rushing through his ears snapped Kilgarrah out of his inner thoughts. The air directed at Merlin from his flailing wings was pushed back by the former's magic. It was then the power of the Dragon Lord entered Kilgarrah's veins, compelling him to reply to any and all of Merlin's current questions truthfully.

"How did she die?" the young warlock's voice was much softer, but didn't lose its biting tone. It even made the Great Dragon wince at the amount of force Emrys was using, and to get a dragon to wince is a sign of great power. But despite him wanting to say nothing of the subject, the Dragon Lord magic made the truth flutter free from his scaly lips.

"The Druid girl... perished by... the High..." Kilgarrah desperately wanted to fly away, to breathe fire to scare Merlin away, _anything_ to hold the truth back, and only tell the young warlock the honeyed lies he'd been using for years. But now that the snake's gilded tongue had been cut, only the truth now remains.

"High Priest's... magic... over life and death..."

**I'm so evil... ;)**

**Cliffie's gotta love them! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Oh, if you want to beta this story, ask me in a review! :)**

**Please can you R&R before you leave?**

**Review Question: How do you think Merlin is going to react?**

**Dragon Out!**


	3. Kilgarrah's Truth

**Sorry I haven't updated! I've been really busy with my job lately...**

**All of the favorites, follows, and reviews keep me going! THANK YOU SO MUCH!**

**Anyhow, enjoy Kilgarrah's truth!**

Merlin stumbled backward, as if he'd been shot with a crossbow. He was unable to process the dragon's words. All of the foes he had faced when he fell in love with Freya were either dead or in hiding. No one except Gaius and the Great Dragon knew who she was. Even Arthur had been oblivious to her. So how could this have happened?

_Why did it happen? Why is it the ones I care for are the ones who bear the weight of my destiny?_

Merlin felt his knees shiver and weaken. He fell to his knees before the dragon like how a preacher kneels in a church. Rage traveled through his body, making him seem to vibrate with the amount of hatred he felt towards Kilgarrah from withholding and hiding this in the shadows, and not bringing the lies to light. But why would he? Emrys had thought the Great Dragon was his friend, the one who could help him face any magical dilemma.

But now it seems that all of the Dragon's help had been for naught except a facade, to deceive the young warlock into doing whatever the dragon wished. Grinding his teeth together momentarily, Merlin stood back up. Well, _he_ is a Dragon-Lord, so Kilgarrah will answer the next series of questions, and now the young warlock will not have any regrets about using his powers to interrogate the beast.

Meanwhile the dragon felt fear rip through his heart like a crashing wind through an old sail. He could practically smell the instability of the young warlock. All of the emotions that young Emrys had been hiding or ignoring these past years came back to his fresh memory. The dragon's endless riddles, his advice, his words...

How much of these past years had been a lie to manipulate the great sorcerer?

"Who asked him to do this, dragon?" Merlin's voice grew dangerously quite, a whisper compared to the earlier shouting. But even the forest grew silent, waiting in anxious anticipation of what the sorcerer would do.

Kilgarrah tried to prolong the inevitable. The fact of the dragon being powerless in this delicate yet precarious situation almost made the ever enraging inferno in his belly rise up to the back of the Great Dragon's throat. But he swallowed the burning mass, knowing that incinarating the warlock would only damage the very fabric of the overbearing nuisance that was known as destiny.

But by then the empty, hollow feeling that had enveloped Merlin soon turned into another fit of uncontrollable anger. His normally smiling ocean blue eyes were ablaze with rage and he clenched his hands into a fist. Whatever Merlin was going to yell about was cut off by a loud baying roar of a dragon, which even made Kilgarrah seem to freeze at the amount of emotions behind it.

"Drákos! Télos i̱ sio̱pí̱ sas kai milí̱ste! Poios zí̱ti̱se apó ton ieréa na termatísei ti̱ zo̱í̱ ti̱s!?" Merlin cried out, drowning out Kilgarrah's own growling rumbles. Once again the dragon felt the truth rush past him and out into the frigid midnight air. Those few words held a secret that he would rather have buried with the Druid girl.

"... I... I asked him to do so..."

The Great Dragon faintly heard Merlin draw in a single gasp of air. Wincing, the animal turned his head away in silent shame. The memory of Alator and himself came into his mind as he remembered the deal he and the human warlock had agreed upon all those many years ago.

_Destiny is a thing that must not be altered by the means of love. Kilgarrah had learned that lesson when his kind was brutally massacred by the false king that sits upon the throne of Camelot. Rightfully, it belongs to Arthur. He is the one who will bring back the days of Old and unite them with the coming New Age. But he needs a protector and friend to guide him out of the shadow of his monstrous sire and into the light. That was the only reason Merlin was given his gifts! He must **not** let his heart be his guide. _

_A silent spell, one Merlin could not detect, connected the Great Dragon's mind with that of the High Priest Alator of the Catha. When the dragon first spoke, it sent the man nearly insane with the amount of ancient power used to hide the magic from Merlin's eye. Yet the beast calmed the man and told him of the proposition he had._

**_So will you help me end this girl's life?_**

_The priest appeared to think about his situation. He hated using his powers to murder another creature of magic. It made him feel like the tyrannical Uther Pendragon who burned his kind at the stake. But then the old warlock thought about if the king caught the Druid girl, and he wouldn't wish anyone burned alive. Their screams were barely more than the begging from the pit of their souls to be spared this agony. Alator could remembered the many faces that were churned black from the searing heat of the burning pyres. In a way, it was sparing her. _

_Then with the thought of a vengeful dragon, the Priest then sealed the deal by promising his Vinna's life on that he would do the deed. But it didn't stop the pity aroused deep within his heart._

**_I'm sorry girl... I'm sorry you must die for the sake of destiny..._**

_Within a few hours of the conversation, the Druid girl had died by Arthur's sword when the clock struck midnight. Merlin's grief was apparent, and inwardly he was screaming. Kilgarrah fed him empty words to comfort young Emrys. While in his mind, he quickly tried to forget the deal he made with Alator. The dragon nearly succeeded. _

_Until tonight._

"KILGARRAH!" the voice dripping seething hatred snapped the beast back into this cold reality. Swallowing nervously, the dragon turned his great head back towards the angry Dragon Lord. Gripped tightly in Merlin's fist was a small dagger, which the Great Dragon hadn't noticed him carrying before.

"What I've done warlock..." Kilgarrah began warily, gruff voice hiding his icy fear behind a well rehearsed mask.

"Save it dragon." Merlin's own short, curt words didn't even sound remotely like him. Emrys' senses all told him to plunge his knife deep within the dragon's heart and leave the beast to be devoured by the animals living here. But he contained the urge to do so in favor of asking one last question.

"What life was created for Freya's? I don't wish to use my powers again, but I will if you answer again with lies and riddles."

"A dragon's..." the once prideful animal now had his head hung in shame. A secret that should have been buried forever now was the cause of this chaos.

"Aithusa's." Merlin finished. His breathing deepened. All of the pain that the dragons wrought upon Albion was uncountable. That was when Merlin thought of Mordred's sword begotten in a dragon's breath.

"You killed Arthur by creating Aithusa's life. She made the sword that killed him! It's your fault he died Dragon! Who else have you slaughtered in your quest of vengeance against Camelot?!" Merlin's eyes glowed a deep gold as the branches of the trees around him shuddered. The wind picked up tremendously and whipped against the Dragon's hide with ferocious intent.

A tremendous oak was uplifted in the winds and thrust towards the dragon's left foreleg. It shattered as it came into contact with Kilgarrah's scaly limb and a large _crack _was made audible. Kilgarrah roared in agony as his leg bone shattered into dozens of shards. He fell to the forest floor, a giant crash as Kilgarrah's underbelly was exposed.

"MERLIN!" the dragon pleaded.

"You once told me your breed is noble, Great Dragon." the young warlock seemingly hadn't heard the dragon's cry of begging. He was too busy contemplating whether or not to end the pitiful beast's life by using that small dagger Emrys still had clenched in his fist. Merlin's knuckles turned white with the amount of pressure he kept on it. The dragon's leg felt as if it were ablaze with his fire.

"Where is the noble in ending a life to save your breed? The noble in Aithusa?"

Reluctantly, the dragon closed his amber eyes to prepare for death's embrace as Merlin came towards his heart holding the dagger. As he waited for oblivion, the animal heard the dull sound of a blade piercing the ground. In response, Kilgarrah tentatively opened his eye to see Merlin standing before him, the knife plunged hilt deep into the soggy mud. The young warlock's eyes held no emotion and his body stood rigid as if in anticipation for an attack.

"The second time I could've killed you. Just remember Kilgarrah, I will kill you if you do this again. Get out of my sight. I can't look at you right now." Merlin turned and started to walk away into the treeline. The young warlock never looked back at the animal limping, then taking off into the sky. The dragon's only solace was the moon against his spiny back and the wind pushing his tired limbs towards his cave. All the while, the dragon could only think,

_I have caused Albion's downfall with the death of her king..._

**Hope Merlin wasn't terrible. I based him off Mordred when Kara was killed. R&R please!**

**Review Question: Did Kilgarrah deserve to die for what he has done?**

**Dragon Out!**


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